Chapter 131: chapter 131

MADHAVI grip the steering wheel in a death grip as I try—and fail—to stop thinking about the day I met my mother in the hospital. She looked distraught and disturbed. Her eyes were filled with hatred and disgust as she gazed at and told me how I was so much worse than my abusive father. I believed that was the last time I would ever seen her in my life.But..There is no mistaking that elderly woman in the classroom now. She looks just the same, only with more gray hair and wrinkles. With a happy and satisfied glow.I feel bitter yet relieved to see that joyous expression on her face. I have always wondered about her. I know she was given both physical and mental treatment for the abuse she faced, but I never dared to contact her. For the fear of how she would react.As soon as I saw her in the classroom, I was taken back to the past. I felt like that same boy who tried to protect his mother—only to have her call him names and beg the police to put him in prison and never let him out. I put my head on the steering wheel and sigh, trying to collect my thoughts.I don't know what is taking Sruthi longer to come. I am scared that my mother would tell Sruthi about me. Heck! It is not like Sruthi doesn't know about me murdering my father but hearing it from my mother would different. I don't even have the energy in me to think of the consequences that would happen if Sruthi were to leave me after hearing my mother tell her I am a monster. My thoughts spiral out of my control and I have vivid images of the nightmares of Sruthi leaving me flash before my eyes.The passenger door opens, and Sruthi slides in. I sit up straight and lean forward. I don’t have the guts to look at her face and see the judgment there. Something tells me Sruthi has figured out the relationship between me and Neetu’s grandmother. I brace myself for the questions she wants to ask, but she says something unexpected:“Can we go home?”Home.That word is comforting. I didn’t realize how much I missed that place—and my wife. I had been sent off to investigate the illegal dealings happening between our country and the neighboring one, Dehithill. Something dark is brewing there. Vikram is trying to figure out if Dehithill is a threat to us or not.I give her a nod and start the car. As I drive out of the school parking lot, I wait for her to ask me questions. She leans forward in her seat, and I hold my breath, wondering if she will finally ask. But instead, she fiddles with the radio until a station starts playing.The rest of the drive goes like that—just the radio filling the silence between us. Sruthi stays quiet, and I would give anything to know what’s on her mind.When we reach home, I turn off the car. Sruthi doesn’t get out. Neither do I. She answers my unasked question.“I won’t ask you anything, Madhav. You can tell me if you want to.”“Sruthi.” I say her name before taking her hand in mine. I galance at the ring on her right ring finger. It is a simple gold band with a heart craved in the middle. I have a similar one in my right ring finger. I spin it slowly in her finger and take comfort in its presence. Something about seeing her wearing the ring I brought for her reassures me. I open my mouth but words fail me. I want to escape this conversation. I don’t want to talk about what I’m feeling. But I also know this is an inevitable conversation, and the sooner I face it, the better I’ll feel.“She looked happy,” I blurt the first thing that comes to my mind. Sruthi doesn’t respond—she just squeezes my hand reassuringly.“And healthy,” I continue. “I never knew she could smile like that. She never did when she was with me. I think she wasn’t really happy with me.”“She wasn’t happy with your father, but I’m sure she didn’t feel that way about you. Otherwise, why would she have chosen a name for you that means ‘happiness’?”I blink in confusion before remembering—the name my mother gave me was Anand. I used that name before I was released from juvenile detention. When Vikram approached me, I wanted to start over, so I changed my name. I had nearly forgotten about that name.“How did you know that?”“She has a tattoo of that name on her forearm. I once asked her about it.”A small hope swells in my heart. I know my mother was obsessed with tattoos, but she never got one because my father loathed them. She always told me she would get a tattoo one day—one that would mean the world to her. I never thought she would tattoo the name she gave me.Something wet falls on my cheek, and I realize it’s a tear.Sruthi unbuckles her seatbelt and pulls me closer, but my seat belt still restrains me. She frowns at it. I move my hand to remove it, but before I can, she is already in my lap, pulling me into a fierce hug. Her hands draw smooth circles on my back, and I relax into her touch. Her presence grounds me. I’m glad to have her in my life—especially at this moment.I rest my head on her shoulder. We stay like that for a few minutes. The only sounds in the car are our breathing and the tick, tick, tick of her watch.“Do you want to talk to her?” Sruthi asks cautiously.“I don’t know,” I answer honestly. “I’m still scared of her. I’m afraid she’ll call me a murderer again and look at me with disgust.”Sruthi cups my face, making me look at her. I’m taken aback by the intensity and fierceness in her eyes.“Then you don’t have to,” she says, leaving no room for argument. “No matter what your decision is, I will stand by you. If you want to talk to her, then do it. If you don’t, then don’t. It’s as simple as that.”“But it isn’t simple for me,” I whine.She presses her forehead to mine and whispers softly, “Then don’t make a decision now. Keep postponing it until it feels like a simple one to make.”“Can I do that?”“Yes, you can. You don’t have to decide right now. Take some time off and think. Don’t worry about what she will think or say to you. Think about whether you want to talk to her. Whether you want to make amends or push her away. This is about you.”“Me?” I ask, feeling dumb. All this time, I imagined how my mother would feel about seeing me again, but I never once considered how I would feel about it.“Yes,” Sruthi says, pressing a soft kiss to my forehead. “You matter. Your emotions matter. Your feelings matter. So, for once, prioritize yourself first.”❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥A couple of days pass in a blur. I am at our vacation house—the house with a white picket fence that I bought for Sruthi. After getting home that day, I couldn’t sleep. My dreams were plagued with memories of me and my mother and our fallout. I wanted to be away from the chaos, to think clearly for a few days. I needed space. So, I told Sruthi and came here. She didn’t look disappointed when I told her. Instead, she gave me an understanding look and told me that she would be waiting for me.True to her word, she didn’t disturb me. Not even a call. Just text messages asking if I had reached safely and if I had eaten. I want to call her, but I’m afraid that the moment I hear her voice, I will go running back to the capital. I need to clear my head and sort out this problem with my mother before I return.But I miss Sruthi terribly. I miss going to bed with her in my arms and waking up to her kissing my forehead and whispering how much she loves me. She texted me the same thing this morning, but nothing beats hearing it in person.I flip through the TV channels, lost in thoughts about my childhood. I still haven’t healed from my scars, and the first step toward healing is forgiveness. I should make amends with my mother and face her. If what Sruthi said is true, then my mother might have regretted yelling at me in the hospital. I don’t blame her or hate her for how she acted.She was a victim herself, and back then, her world revolved around my father. She never lost hope that she could change him. She believed that he would redeem himself one day for her sake. My mother thought her love could change him. But the sad truth is, her love wasn’t strong enough to do that. He saw her as property—something to be controlled and used rather than a human being.She went through so much. I let out a sad sigh. The conversation I’m going to have with my mother will be painful, but I must have it if I want to be a better person for my wife.My thoughts come to a standstill when a TV advertisement about sanitary napkins plays. The woman in the ad is grinning and happy. The people who filmed this ad must not be aware of the terrible mood swings women have when they are menstruating. It is horrible to the point that even small silly mistake like not closing the bathroom door after using is sure to make the woman turn into a dragon that can breathe fire. I remember how confused and frustrated I was with Sruthi initially before I understood that it was her hormones making her angry. Once I figured it out, it was easy to handle her when she has mood swings. Suddenly, something clicks in my mind.My wife hasn’t had her period this month.I am sure of it because if she had she would have told me or rather scolded me for skipping my lunch yesterday afternoon. Nope, she didn't call me when I texted her I didn't have my lunch. Instead she she sent me food order. It takes me a moment to realize how much I’ve been neglecting her these past two days. I wanted to be alone, so I came here but in doing so, I forgot to check in how she is doing. I haven't even texted her first these past couple of days. She texts me and I reply to her.Dammit.I grab my phone and dial Sruthi’s number. What if my wife is ill? The call goes to voicemail. It’s two in the afternoon, so Sruthi should be on her way home. I turn off the TV and start packing my bag. Just as I zip it closed, my phone rings. I pick it up with a grin when I see it is my wife calling.“Hey,” I say, feeling a little nervous. It’s been two days since I talked to her.“Darling,” there’s a slight nervousness in her voice too. “How are you?”I chuckle at her endearment for me. I still can't get over how cute she sounds when she calls me like that.“I’m doing fine here. I’m thinking of coming home today. Where are you?”“On my way home. I’ll be waiting for you.”“Did you get your period?” I ask, locking the house and activating the security system.“No.” Her voice holds something back.“Have you ever had irregular periods? Should I be concerned? Is it normal to get them late? Why don’t we consult a gynecologist? I’ll come home and take you to one.”I hear her chuckle. “God, I love it when you fuss over me like this.”My heart skips a beat. She throws the L word around randomly, always at the least expected times.“I’m worried about you, woman, and you’re telling me you love it?” I shake my head as I walk to my convertible.“It’s nice having you care for me, to be honest,” she says.“Alright, I see what you’re doing here. Stop diverting and answer my questions.”She stays silent for a few seconds. Then, she speaks in a cautious voice. “Madhav, listen carefully. I’m healthy. Nothing is wrong with me. I don’t have irregular periods, and it’s not late. Yes, you should be concerned—but not for the reasons you’re thinking. And yes, you must take me to a gynecologist every month.”“Sruthi, I don’t understand,” I say, frowning.“Figure it out yourself,” she says and hangs up.I replay her words in my head. Slowly, they start to make sense.If her period isn’t late… then the other reason for her not having it is…Concerned for other reasons… a monthly visit to the gynecologist…I gasp as realization hits me like a tidal wave.Holy God! My wife is pregnant. I’m going to be a father.❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥